A Visit from the Past
by Adanwen
Summary: For the HP 100 prompts challenge - prompts "Do not disturb", "Spiral", and "Sunrise". Pairing: Drastoria. The Daily Prophet's newest headline makes Draco and Astoria seek help at an old friend.
1. Do Not Disturb

Blinking his way into the kitchen, Draco needed a moment to orientate himself in the vast extense of Muggle high-tech. Only then did he remember that this was Astoria's apartment and not some sort of freakish nightmare. He sighed and stepped forward to rummage through various cupboards in search of tea and mugs.

After he had found what he needed and was happily in the process of boiling water (with magic of course, thank you), he heard a soft thud followed by a sharp knocking sound at the living room window.

"Tori?"

No reply. Wand at the ready, he carefully walked towards the window – Muggle surroundings still made him feel a bit nervous.

"What is it?" Astoria had appeared in the bedroom door, still wearing her pyjamas and hair looking like a pygmy nest.

Draco dropped his wand. "Oh. It's just your owl."

Opening the window with some embarrassment and a lot of relief, he watched Astoria's owl flying in gracefully, leaving a mess of parchment and paper on the window sill.

Astoria chuckled at Draco's unnerved look and escorted the tired looking bird to the _fuelling station_, as she called the place she kept all of the bird food.

Flipping briefly through the letters all directed to his girlfriend (bill, postcard from Daphne, bill, letter from the Ministry, bill), he settled for the _Daily Prophet_ and went back to the kitchen.

At least that had been his plan. He never arrived there.

The headline of the newspaper seemed to glare at him in big, black letters, ink dripping with mockery.

**Do Not Disturb! Ex-Deatheater Enters A Dangerous Liaison With Ministry Witch**

What really made him grateful he hadn't had breakfast yet though was the photograph beneath that. It showed him and Astoria in the doorway of her apartment, kissing.

"Draco, tea is getting cold – are you all right?" The last bit was spoken in obvious alarm at seeing him standing in the middle of the room, eyes fixed on the _Prophet_ and face as white...well, even whiter than a Malfoy!

Since he didn't answer, she joined him and clutched the paper from his hands when she realised who was on the picture.

"Merlin's beard! This can't be true!" She looked up at him as if pleading for contradiction.

Swallowing dry, he tried to comfort her by squeezing her shoulder. He got somewhat used to being ripped apart in public opinion, but she, naturally, was not.

"Let's see what it reads first," he proposed.

_Draco Malfoy, as notorious for being the youngest recorded Deatheater as for being handsome in a sickly, vampiresque way, seems to have launched an attack to try and get back into the good books of wizarding society._

"He has every reason to, as everyone knows," Collins, Malfoy's estate-manager and long-time friend of the family agrees. "He had to sell Malfoy Manor last year, to finance his expensive pureblood lifestyle. Bought it for 30000 Galleons, which is quite a deal on my side, if you know what I mean."

Indeed, after his father, Lucius Malfoy, having been sent to Azkaban for the second time (and let's hope this time it's for good) and his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, having retreated from society into the shadows of an obscure family refuge (to her sister Andromeda Tonks, we informed), young Malfoy needs to grasp at straws to not be lynched on the streets.

Malfoy's talent to use other people to look good, seems to have developed early on. One of his former victims, a beautiful and humble young woman, tells us of her Hogwarts days with what she calls a dangerous sociopath.

"He made me go to the Yule Ball with him, because he knew that I was the most popular girl of our year," Pansy Parkinson reveals. "I didn't want to but he said he would spread the rumour that I was dating a mudblood if I wouldn't. I was so scared!"

His new victim goes by the name of Astoria Greengrass; a plain and obscure witch working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (a second-rate department, as everyone knows). Our readers may wonder why Malfoy would choose her of all people to regain favours, but the key lies in her blood status.

"She's a half-blood, all right," her colleague and good friend Eliza Hughes, tells us. "Her mother's a Muggle, which is quite the surprise if you ask me, because her father was in Slytherin. There's something fishy about it, if you ask me."

Why a half-blood and not a muggle-born? You might rightly ask. While it may not be clear to us, dear reader, the author of this article is convinced that Mr Malfoy had a very good reason for choosing just this grey mouse. In any case he succeeded in getting what he wanted: attention.

The question now is: who will be his next victim? For what bigger plan will Miss Greengrass be the stepping stone?

An exclusive report for the Daily Prophet by Alexia Ashcombe.


	2. Spiral

After quickly going through the first three stages of grief (shock, disbelief and despair), Astoria had now arrived at number four - anger. Draco watched in awe as she ripped apart the newspaper and then continued to pace through the apartment, using words he never would have guessed she knew.

"Plain? Obscure? Second-rate department? What kind of demented person writes something like this?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. "But it sounds mightily like Rita Skeeter to me, although not as sharp."

"Not as sharp? NOT AS SHARP?" Astoria looked at him with something alarmingly akin to madness glistening in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. It's horrible, of course. But I sort of got used to this after the rubbish they started writing about me and my family after the trials."

Something about his tone made Astoria stop her pacing and walk over to where he sat on her bed; crestfallen, despite his words.

"Listen," she said, gently cupping his face. "We'll do something about this. You can't let people like that have a hold over you. Besides, it's a pack full of lies and the world deserves to know the truth about you."

"What on earth do you want to do against it? _The Daily Prophet_ has an army of ruthless lawyers; I know that, my father once tried to sue them."

She raised her eyebrows but decided not to ask more details and sat down next to him instead.

_What can one do against people whose job it is to ruin your life?_ Peeking at Draco's expression of resignation, she sighed in pain. His life appeared to be a never-ending spiral of misguidance, neglect, and scorn. Now that he had freed himself from the influence the views of his parents held over him for so long, it seemed that society tried everything to drag him back into the prejudices and discrimination they had fought against in the war. _If only I were a journalist, I'd write such a flaming..._

"That's it!"

Draco nearly fell from the bed at her sudden outburst. "What's what?" He asked in bewilderment.

"The solution! Draco, do you remember fourth year, well, _your_ fifth year, when everyone was reading that interview with Harry Potter in _The Quibbler_?"

His face turned sour at the mention of his life's nemesis. "How could anyone ever forget anything The Boy Who Lived has done?"

"Hnghh, just forget about Harry Potter!" She threw her hands up in exasperation.

He seemed graciously inclined to do so.

"Don't you see it? No one believed the lies _The Prophet_ printed about him any more after that!"

Draco stared at her wide, enthusiasm-spreading eyes and searched for hints of madness again.

"You want me to give an interview in that...ridiculous excuse for a magazine? No one will take me seriously any more after _that_, that's for sure!"

"Well, it's not like we have much of a choice. I mean, if you know any other magazine or newspaper that would print anything you say, please name it!"

"That's not fair!" He exclaimed, like a child losing at a game, and putting on the proper pout.

"It won't be that bad, I promise. I heard that Luna has taken over the business from her father now and she always seemed to be a nice girl to me, though I don' know her that well."

"Luna Lovegood?" Draco forgot to pout and turned bashful all of a sudden. "I'd rather not see her."

Astoria gave him a funny expression. "Why not? Because she's loony?"

"No, because she was held prisoner at Malfoy Manor during the war. And she's not loony. Well, a bit maybe," he told the uncaring floor until the silence made him look at her. She was staring at him with a weird mix of horror and compassion, which apparently wouldn't let her speak.

"It's ok, though," he tried to reassure her. "I came to bring them food and stuff and in the end it was she who comforted me."

If Draco had been better at reading people's faces and at identifying more emotions than just the many variations of madness, he would have recognised the dull glow of jealousy in the corner of her eyes.

"Well, she won't mind helping you then. Let's go!" She wouldn't let that get in the way of finding some redemption for him.

He realised that he had no more things to put forth against the plan, so he got up ever so slowly and made a big fuss of getting dressed and looking for his keys.

After getting hold of the latest _Quibbler_ and thereby learning the address of the print shop, they arrived at a blue and white painted house, somehow managing to look even more askew and asymmetric than the rest of the eccentric buildings in Diagon Alley.

"This must be it," Astoria repeated, checking the address once more and totally ignoring the copper plate that announced "_Luna Lovegood. Editor of The Quibbler_" and showed a very pretty engraving of a crocket-playing pixie.

Draco took a deep breath and knocked three times at the door. He was rather hoping that no one was at home after some seconds of no reaction but then a loud crash and an even louder bang informed them unmistakeably about the presence of the house owner.

Every kind of prepared greeting died away on their lips when Luna appeared in the doorway, wearing a pink beret and huge, electric blue glasses with golden spirals instead of lenses.

"Oh," she said, not looking surprised at all. "It's you. Come in, please."

And she left them agape on the doormat, disappearing into the depths of a dimly lighted corridor, which was, as Draco realised with mounting panic, actually tapering off towards the centre of the house.


	3. Sunrise

"I feel like Alice going down the rabbit hole," Astoria mumbled, looking around at the walls plastered with paintings, murals, posters, frames, and postcards.

"What? Who's Alice?" Draco was confused enough by the overflowing shelves that sported not only books in every imaginable size but also helmets, trumpets, diadems, plants, statues and busts of house-elves and goblins, telescopes, kettles, and even some pale animals in glasses and jugs that reminded him involuntarily of Snape's office.

"You'd better not linger in the deal, it's full of Nargles. I've tried my best to get rid of them, but you know," Luna's head sighed sadly, hovering in the doorway of what seemed to be the living room, "they're most stubborn to leave a place where someone's been murdered."

It was hard to say who wore a more grotesque expression of horror at this piece of information, but the dim light in the corridor made that judgement impossible any ways.

When they rejoined Luna in the room at the end of the deal, Draco and Astoria weren't surprised any more by what they saw. It looked like the explosion of a rainbow, coinciding with a super-nova. The wall behind the blue and yellow striped 18th-century sofa (perfected by pink and green spotted pillows in star-shape) was like a threshold into another world. It showed a rainforest, complete with leopards, toucans, giant dragonflies, and some exotic animals Draco wasn't sure really existed.

Meanwhile, Astoria had managed to wrestle her attention from the likeness of a noseless, old wizard, who seemed to be in the middle of building a pyramid with bunny skulls; in order to introduce herself properly to Luna.

"Oh, I know who you are," Luna smiled mildly, pointing at a copy of the _Prophet_ on the couch-table. Interpreting Astoria's fierce blushing wrong, she added: "Don't worry, I don't normally read that. I just flip through it for research sometimes."

"Well, Luna, it's, errr, nice to see you. How have you been, umm, all this time?" Draco tried to get a grasp of something like a normal conversation.

"You mean after I escaped from your house?" There was no trace of bitterness or hard feeling on her complacent features. "I really enjoyed those days at the sea with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, although everything was still clouded by Voldemort wanting to kill Harry and take over the world, and all."

Astoria decided this was a good moment to sink down onto the sofa.

"Coming back to my old house wasn't that nice, seeing that it was completely destroyed. My Dad was injured very badly too. But after that, you know, when Harry defeated Voldemort, everything began to get better. The _Quibbler_'s pretty popular too now – almost a bit too popular actually," she added as an afterthought, sitting down pensively in a purple armchair with golden stripes. "But you're here to talk about that Rita Skeeter article, not about me."

"Rita Skeeter?" Draco raised his head from studying the Cheshire Cat patterns on the carpet. "But it said-"

"Alexia Ashcombe." Luna nodded sagely. "She's her new apprentice. She came here once, said she wanted an interview with the _respected editor of the world-famous magazine known as the Dribbler_. Apparently Rita's training her to take over her job, because she's tarting to consider retirement. Skeeter's heir, so to speak." Here she giggled good-heartedly at her own joke, as if it brought back fond memories.

Draco rather preferred not to remember his second year. Or any school year for that matter.

"So, umm," Astoria tried to get to the point of their visit. "Draco and I wondered whether you would be ready to, err-"

"Of course!" Luna exclaimed happily, re-awakened from the reverie of her sorting ceremony (which had been graced by the sight of a car flying by the windows of the Great Hall). "You want me to print your version of events, don't you?"

"Well, seeing that neither of us is a journalist; we were hoping you could interview us. Like, you know," Draco fumbled at his cravat uncomfortably, "like that interview with Potter."

This surprised Luna so much that she was induced to take off her spectacles. "But you know that Rita Skeeter wrote that, don't you?"

Little pink spots invaded Draco's cheeks. "Yeah, that is an, umm... ironic coincidence, indeed. It's just that we remembered that and thought it could work again."

Thinking that Luna might be reluctant to take the job, Astoria decided to let all covers down. "We really don't know what else we could do. I don't want people to think such things about Draco and we'd be truly grateful, Luna."

"We'd pay for the expense too," Draco added, not quite freed yet of the notion that money could buy anything.

Luna beamed at them, her protuberant eyes shining with benevolence. "I'm not as sharp at writing as Rita, but I can give it a try. I always wanted to do an interview. You're not Bodo Bilgins, the famous crypto-biologist, but it will be fun nevertheless." And with that she glided out of the room, supposedly to get her writing utensils.

Draco and Astoria hardly had time to exchange a _so far so good_-glance, when Luna reappeared with a tray full of chessboard-patterned tea-cups, balancing a quill and a piece of parchment on top of them. "You're lucky, I had just warmed up an infusion of Gurdyroots when you knocked."

"So," she began professionally by poking her chin with the tip of the quill. "I think it will be best if I simply ask you about all the things Miss Ashcombe wrote and if they're really true. Which we know they're not, but I have to stay neutral, you know."

One hour and some choking on Gurdyroot-tea later, the three of them had covered nearly every subject that had been mentioned in the _Do not disturb_-article. Draco had told Luna all about sleazy Mr Collins and how Pansy Parkinson had begged him to go to the Yuleball with her. Noticing that he grew uncomfortable when they reached the topic of having been a Deatheater, Luna proposed to continue the interview by talking to them one on one.

And so Astoria found herself in Luna's attic-study, wondering what it was that Draco couldn't say in front of her. It wasn't that she had no interest in Luna's collection of specimens and historical volumes on rare magical beasts (at any other time she would have clapped her hands in wild joy at the sight of a well-preserved pair of Basilisk fangs. This was her job after all. And the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was certainly _not_ second-rate.). She only wished she had an exemplar of expendable ears in her handbag.

That day when she had visited Draco at Malfoy Manor came to her mind. She had said that she didn't mind not knowing everything about his past, but now she wasn't so sure any more. Somehow she had always imagined that he would come to tell her his own version of things, little by little, but after a year she still only knew that he had become a Deatheater at 16 and that Voldemort had made Malfoy Manor his headquarters during the war. He had told her that he had brought food to the prisoners (it was hard to believe that that cheerful girl downstairs being so free around him had been held hostage at his house) – but what other duties did he have to fulfil?

Astoria shuddered involuntarily. She knew he hadn't killed anyone, but still...there was something awful he hid from her.

_And those scars on his chest. When I asked him about them he got really upset. Almost hysterical. As if he hadn't noticed them himself till then._

Working herself into a state of doubt and dark suspicions, Astoria waited. And waited. She watched the people rushing by on the street below and the clouds in the bright blue sky above. The round, white-paned window made her feel as if she was on board of a ship, somewhere under deck, hiding among foreign goods.

After another while she told herself that she needed the toilet and decided to walk down. _What did Luna say? First floor, second door from the right_, she tried to remember.

Opening said door, she suddenly found herself in the middle of what seemed to be the costume-storage of a circus. _Probably her wardrobe_, she guessed while taking in the multi-coloured rows of the most peculiar clothes she had ever seen.

She turned to go, when all of a sudden she heard something like a humming sound. Holding her breath and straining her ears, she realised that it was voices. _This must be directly above the living room. Oh, come on, Tori, don't be a silly goose._

Her sight fell on a little hole in the wooden floor. She couldn't say whether she was glad or disappointed to find it, but before she knew it, she was kneeling on the ground, pressing her ear against the opening.

_I can't believe I'm actually doing this. This is so low. _Her mind recoiled from her actions and kept on bubbling remonstrations, but it was of no use. As soon as she heard Draco's voice loud and clear as if she was sitting next to him, her body became paralysed.

"I never thanked you for keeping me company that night." She couldn't see Luna, but she was sure that she was smiling that gorgeous smile when she replied.

"That's all right. I should thank you, because it was a nice change in the daily routine of the place. I'm curious though, was my advise on your nightmares of any help?"

_Nighmares?_ He talked about his dreams with her?

"Ugh, well." _He's ruining his cravat again. _"What I wanted to tell you before...before You-know-who came, is that I never managed to produce a patronus in third year."

Astoria gulped. She didn't know any of this.

"Oh. That's no problem. You should have joined the DA, I didn't know how to do it before that either. But of course, you were in the Inquisitorial Squad, it would have been difficult."

Luna laughed at this apparently funny thought. Something like acid flushed through her chest when Astoria heard Draco laugh too. Some of her house mates had invited her to join Dumbledore's Army in her fourth year, but Daphne had threatened to inform their father about it. Right now she wished she had taken the risk and followed her intuition for once instead of her sister's or parents' lead.

"I can teach you, if you want to."

"WHAT?"

Covering her mouth in shock, Astoria couldn't believe she had just exclaimed that out loud. In fact, the lack of reaction from downstairs almost convinced her that it had only been a very loud thought. But then she heard the door open and footsteps coming nearer. She half considered disapparating, but realised that it would only postpone the painful confrontation. How could she explain eavesdropping, while sitting on the floor of Luna's wardrobe on top of that?

Instead of trying to make up a good excuse, she stared at a garish pink boa in a transfixed state. Her heart raced as if it wanted to take to the skies, but all she could think of were her pink rubber boots she had loved so dearly as a child.

Finally the door opened and blue and grey eyes looked down on her in equal wonder (although she had the presence of mind to notice that Luna's eyes always expressed wonder and that she didn't seem half as shocked as one would suppose someone to be, who just found their guest in midst their clothes.)

"Tori, what in Merlin's name-"

"Did you get lost?" Luna asked empathetically, as if she just had met with a small child in the middle of a forest.

Astoria didn't know anything else than to scramble up awkwardly and admire the dust-bunnies at her feet. Tears started to flow down her burning cheeks against her will and she felt like a five-year-old being caught with her hands in the cookie-jar. All this didn't help at all to figure out what to say.

"Draco, I think Astoria and I need a witch-to-witch talk in the closet."

Without waiting for an answer (which wasn't probable to come any ways, seeing that he was gaping at them like a very pale newt), Luna stepped in and closed the door behind her. Not knowing what to expect (nor really wanting to know), Astoria kept her eyes on the floor and sniffed guiltily.

"You're jealous, aren't you?"

Well, she _had_ expected some sort of preamble after all! She hardly knew how to answer, but at least this had made her look up.

"Is it...is it that obvious?" She never had felt so pathetic in her life.

"No, don't worry, I think he's completely clueless. But that means you have to explain more, of course."

For the first time Astoria realised just how marvellous and rare it was to have someone being so consequently honest. She had always prided herself on being a true and honest badger, but at the moment she didn't feel like herself at all.

"I'm sorry you had to wait so long. But I guess this is more because he didn't tell you much about his past, isn't it?" Luna continued.

"I must seem so ridiculous to you. I mean, I just waited and waited for him to take the first step to talk about it, because I didn't want to be nosy or pressure him. But in the end it's my fault, I guess."

"It's of both of you. But you shouldn't say fault. You're just being human and that means imperfect. Even Roweena Ravenclaw, who was the brightest witch of her age, ended up estranged with her daughter. And you're not ridiculous. You just care a lot and don't know how to express it."

She managed a watery smile. "It's just that you two seem to be so close. Sometimes I feel like I don't know him at all." The smile was washed away again.

"That's because we share an experience and one of a crisis at that. Where were you during the war?"

"My family went into hiding on the continent right at the beginning. My father's a pureblood, but my my mother is a Muggle, so it was safer to be completely out of the way." Her gaze was on the floor again and she began to rub her arm nervously. Just why did she feel so ashamed about this?

"You don't have to be ashamed for saving your lives. There was enough suffering as it was. I think it would be good if you just exchanged your stories. I mean, you surely had a hard time too and faced your own struggles. He should want to know about that."

Astoria blinked at this brand-new notion but acknowledged its truth at once. Talking to Luna was like looking into a mirror. _She should offer psychotherapy in the_ Quibbler, she thought in amazement.

"Um, thank you so much, Luna. For your advise and for being so understanding. I mean, we came to ask for your help on a professional thing and now you end up solving our relationship problems too."

"I can't do that for you, but I'm happy to help," Luna corrected friendly. "By the way, you might want to know that he isn't my type at all. He's very nice now that he isn't a Deatheater any more, but I've got my heart settled on someone else already. Besides, he's a bit too grumpy for my taste, if you'll excuse the superficiality."

Almost feeling bad for the huge relief that lifted her insides, Astoria laughed sheepishly.

Luna turned towards the door, but then her sight fell on a wide, dark-blue dress covered with ornate stars, moons, and suns, hanging next to her. Her face brightened and she added: "I think he needs sun more than moon anyway. And the sun is a star of course."

With this cryptic proclamation, she opened the door and called for Draco. Astoria was still trying to figure out the metaphor, when Luna turned to her once more.

"When you taught him how to conjure a patronus, tell me what form it takes, will you? I'm curious."

And then a very confused looking Draco entered the cupboard of confidence. "Err, is everything all right?"

"Yes, it's sunrise!" Luna giggled very uncharacteristically. Or so it seemed to Astoria. Before either of them could utter their doubt at her sanity, she proposed to finish the interview though.

"The article should be ready for print in approximately a week; I'll send you a copy then. Thank you for your trust! I think you have much to talk now." She made a little bow and closed the door slowly, beaming fondly at them.

"What just happened?" Draco looked just as helpless as he felt. Taking heart and his hand, Astoria tried to calm him.

"You know, your friend Luna's really brillia-" she stopped short. _Luna_. Luna and Astoria. Moon and star. "Draco, let's go home. We need to talk."

He still looked more confused than a ballet dancing troll, but felt her determination and nodded. Right before they disapparated, Astoria still had something important to say though.

"Did I ever tell you how much I love your grumpiness?"


End file.
